I got really bored at one time a while ago, so I wrote a story. Lets see if anyone has enough of an attention span to read the whole thing... If anything doesn't make sense, please tell me about it, and I'll see if I can fix it. And note I'm still writing more, a lot more. Anyway, onto the story.
PROLOGUE—United Nations Meeting Hall
The year is 2195. The Communist party is near collapse, while the rest of the world continues to expand. After an incredibly long World War III, started by the Commies in the first place, they have been a crumbling group. After WWIII, Communists were left with only Russia to force their campaign of a dictatorship.
Considered failures of the lowest means, they began attacking nations arbitrarily in unorganized strikes, hoping to succeed in at least one battle and capture any land they could. But, after several years of failed attacks, the Central Committee of the Communist Party was on its last leg. Finally realizing that the dream of a world dictatorship would not arrive, the CCCP decided that a switch from world domination by war to world equality by peace was necessary, in hopes of a global economy to help sustain them, or so they led the world to believe…
The mastermind behind the Communists last plan was a general Gorluvzch. He refers to his plan with a cliché title of “The Final Stand”. Finally, in the year 2203, after only 8 short years of endorsing peace and global equality throughout the world, the final conference with the UN to decide if a global economy was to be was being held. Every nations highest governmental figures were there. After a “table-top” discussion, there would be a vote. If it was not unanimous, then all would stay as it was. There was to be no “native” money used in the global economy, a new money system was to be created. A “Universal Bill”, so to speak.
The Russian president, or “dictator of peace”, as he was known, Brashnavlich, was leading the conference. As the final member took his seat, Brashnavlich held up his hand in a motion of silence. As he waited for the crowd’s murmurs to quiet down, he cleared his throat. Speaking in a loud, justifying voice in English with a moderate Russian accent, he said, “Good evening to all of you. Thank you for coming.” As he said this, he bowed slightly, waiving his hand across the people before him. “I’m sure some of you are wondering why there is no security around, I felt it to be in everyone’s best interests if they were not here to hear this, or be of any distraction.” The crowed nodded in understanding. He continued, “So now, let us begin…”
Then on cue, a small army of armed Russian guards charged into the room, about 20 of them. Ignoring the guards, Brashnavlich said so casually as if reading a newspaper headline,
“It would be in your best interests to be quiet and not move until told to do so,” Ignoring the comment, the American president stood up, fury virtually written on his face. Always paranoid, he figured something was wrong with the Russians from the start. But he had no idea how right he was, until now. Screaming at Brashnavlich, he yelled, “What is the meaning of this?” But that was all he managed to say before a muted pop echoed throughout the room, as the American president’s hand started dripping blood on the carpet. Only when he looked down did he notice and shout in pain. As his aid rushed to his side to help him, he managed to mutter through clenched teeth “What the hell…”
Ignoring the scene before him, Brashnavlich said, “Unless you wish to end up like Mr. Newman here, or worse, I suggest you do as your told. As of now, you are all hostages to the Communist nation, ” Riving in pain, the American president, President Garry Newman, queried Brashnavlich, “Why take us all? What good will it do?” Brashnavlich responded, “It really is simple, my small minded American friend. My Military leader, and close friend, general Gorluvzch, thought up this ingenious plan. With all your nations leaderless, who will give the order to attack? Defend? Who will be giving any sort of order? After years upon years, decades upon decades, the Red Army has been made fools of, laughed at by your ‘superiority’. Well this is no longer, now, Russia will give orders to you!” President Newman asked back “How do you plan to intimidate our countries? Even if we are leaderless, which we will not be, as we have a Vice President for a reason! Even so, you have no army. This right here is probably what’s left of your pathetic ‘Red Army’. Looks more like a group of homeless pulled off the streets.” His insult was met by another bullet in his left hand. His hand going numb from blood loss, he only winced in pain.
“Not wise of you to question our leadership, Mr. Newman. We may seem like pathetic stragglers, but we are years ahead of any technology you have. Decades even. And there is a purpose for having you here, believe me. Not only is our army large, but as is our weapons of destruction that also give us great power. None of this would have happened, if not for my good friend General Gorluvzch. He is the brain behind this scheme. Anyplace giving resistance will meet any of our large arsenals of weapons. Your native lands cannot grow without a stable leader. They will fear this could happen again, at any moment. This is for Mother Russia!” He slammed his fist on the table, for effect.
He continued, “You still think your any match for me? Or for Mother Russia, I should say. You are leaderless, and we are all powerful.” President Newman countered with, “You can’t get away with this, it’s impossible. Once our countries discover of our capture, they will band together. Then it is you who will be without power.”
“Just you wait, we already had that in mind, and we have…plans…for such events. We will rule.”
“Since we have nowhere to go, why not tell us of your so-called ‘plans’?”
“Very well, if you insist.” He continued with, “My brilliant engineers have developed a new, complete chaos-inducing weapon. They dubbed it the ‘Zomb.’ Though an immature name, believe me, it is no toy. I’m sure you’ve heard of the ever-popular, yet old, video-game series ‘Resident Evil.’”
“Of course, but what do fictional games have to do with this?”
“Aha! You have unexpectedly hit the nail on the head. Say it was not fiction, but could become quite real in a matter of moments? This ‘Zomb’, for short, can in fact cause enraged behavior and mental instability, which, in-turn, leads to the only natural instinct, the need to feed. Extreme cannibalism.”
“What your trying to tell me,” Newman said, “is that you have created a bomb, or delivery system, that carries a pathogen that can turn its host into mindless zombies, in the literal term of the word?”
“So the Americans might not be as dimwitted as I believed. Yes, you are correct. But this is only one of many other weapons we have.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”
“No, no, I am certainly not kidding you. This is as real as it gets.”
“It still doesn’t seem all to possible. You hold a United Nations meeting on the basis of ‘World Peace’ or ‘Global Equality’, and yet you take us all as hostages, then attempt to tell us that you have a biological weapon that is capable of transforming normal everyday humans into mindless flesh eating freaks? And that it is only a ‘small’ part of your plan for a global dictatorship? There is no way this is serious. Your just bullshitting us.”
“And yet you cannot comprehend that if I have gone to these lengths to capture you, I would not have some sort of arsenal or plan?”
“But still…zombies?”
“That is the general, and most used term, but yes for all intents and purposes, yes, they are ‘Zombies’. And mind you the name for the weapon, the ‘Zomb,’ was that of my head engineer’s mind. It seemed fitting enough. But that is besides the point.”
“And what do you plan to do with this ‘Zomb’?”
“Well I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell a curious little American such as yourself. Very well. What we plan to do is launch the ‘Zomb’ at Mexico, then wait approximately a day or two as the infection spreads. Once that’s done, we will send in a small army, forcing the infection north, toward the border. Then warn America of this situation, suggesting they close the border to prevent spread. Then we will-- ”
“One problem with that plan of yours,” President Newman countered, “What about us? What will our countries think after you kidnapped us?”
“Ah, that’s another part of ingenuity. I’m sure you know of the new revolutionary system of heating? That new heating system by the ‘Toasty-warm’ heating company? Well there was a critical malfunction, causing a massive overload, resulting in nothing more then the pile of rubble left behind from this large building. Its simplicity all adds up. With the tragic loss of the higher-ups of all the great nations, they all will work together, and such and such.”
“And what about you? If we all died, then how can you work all this out in public?”
“Again with the simplest of ideas. I was home, sick with a most deadly and contagious virus. While unable to be here in person, I was communicating via satellite phone and web camera. A most fortunate coincidence, on my behalf that is. It turns out that my deadly virus was easily cured, hence my inevitable survival.”
“Alright, fine. But what happens after you drive this ‘infection’ towards the American boarder?”
“Well…Actually, you know what? I’ll let time be the one to tell you that one…”
United States Moon Colony, 1 Week Earlier
“Sir?” Asked a Sergeant Nahgee, a short and thin man with long black hair, also the base radar operator.
“Yes, yes, sergeant, what is it?” responded the commander.
“Well, uh, we have an unidentified spacecraft approaching. Attempts to make contact have been ignored, and it’s approaching fast. Actions seemingly hostile. Orders, sir?”
“Do we have any visuals?”
“Here are the scanner-readouts and a few pictures. The radiation signature is extremely high, as well, sir.”
The commander looked at the pictures, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then the sergeants voice broke him out of his trance, “Everything alright, sir?”
“Yes… I’ll be fine. Ready the D-SAT, (Defensive Satellite) and prepare the laser guided rockets. Keep attempting to make contact, as well.”
“Sir, yes sir!” Was the sergeant’s response as he scurried back to his station to give the orders.
The commander sighed, “I didn’t want it to have to come to this…” He went over to a telecommunications station, and called his superiors.
A gruff-sounding voice answered, “This had better be damn important, commander.”
“It is, Mr. President.”
“Well, out with it then!”
“They found us. I must initiate the evacuation of the subject.”
“Wait, your talking about the Project K?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
The president sighed. “Very well. Evacuate the girl, she is our most important asset. She seems to be very attached to her caretakers, as well. Let them go with her.”
10 Years ago, United States Biological Research Base, location unknown
“Sir?” Asked a Nicholas Bygotter, a scientist working on a top-secret project for the American military.
“Yes, Mr. Bygotter?” responded his superior, a Michel Siggett, who was heading said project.
“Well, uh… You might want to hear this. Its relating to the project we’ve been working on.”
“Your serious? It can’t be, don’t tell me you’ve--”
“Yes, Sir. We’ve found out how to. It’s been an incredibly long and complex process, but we’ve found it.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s…not possible. Honestly? I wasn’t expecting to ever get this done. How’d you do it?”
“As I said, its long and complex, but I think you have time to hear this.” He then went on to explain his discovery. After about 1 or 2 hours, he finished with,
“Only, there is one problem, Sir,”
“And what is that, Nicholas?”
“Well, its--” There was a sudden loud banging on the door.
“Damnit! Let me in! Its important!” Shouted Nicholas’ brother, Vincent Bygotter, sounding incredibly urgent.
“Hang on! I’ll get the door,” Michel Siggett responded. He walked over and opened the door, nearly getting trampled by Vincent.
“Sorry, Sir,” Vincent said. “But, Nick, by God, I’ve found a way around it!”
“What? No, there is no way…your serious?”
“Yes I am!”
“Will one of you please tell me what is going on?”
“Apparently, that little ‘problem’ I told you about has a way around it.”
“OK, so, what was the problem?”
“Well, you know how the idea was to create the ever-so-popular Hollywood movie cliché idea of a ‘Super Solider’? A nearly unstoppable destructive force?”
“Yes, and I always believed it to be a complete waste of the tax payers dollars, but do go on.”
“Well, we had the one problem of how to make the person itself. Since we couldn’t very well modify a living persons genes to what we need, and cloning a full-grown adult was the worst failure we’ve ever encountered, we had the idea to start the project from…well, from conception.”
“Pardon?”
“To put it simply, we create a baby how we want our solider to be. Muscle mass, any specific traits, neurological transmitters also allow for rapid learning capabilities. We raise it as needed also. And by the time the child is a full-grown adult, we may have perfected cloning technology, allowing us to make an army of said solider.”
“OK again, so, you still never told me what the problem was.”
“Well, our first—and probably most important—problem, was who would carry the baby. We couldn’t very well grab some random woman off the streets, and I assume we would have very few volunteers.”
“Very true, so how did you get around it?”
“Tell ‘em, Vince.”
“I’ve created an artificial womb, but not only that, I’ve developed an artificial growth liquid-like material, that increases growth rate of embryos by 67 percent, hence greatly reducing the time it takes for birth.”
“But wouldn’t that also cause advanced and sped-up aging?”
“No, no, I’ve tested it thoroughly. It stops working at around age 10.”
“It sounds very promising… How soon before the project can be started?”
“Sir, we can start in a week.”
“Then get to it, man! We don’t have forever, you know. Shall I inform the President?”
“No, I think it best if this be kept on the down-low until we are one hundred percent positive it works.”
“Hmm…I see your point. Very well. Oh, and, one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Will it be a boy or girl.”
“Since males are genetically stronger then females, a boy, Sir.”
“Do me a favor, name it Chris.”
“Why Chris, Sir?”
“My fathers name. I’d like to keep my promise to him.”
“And what would that promise be?”
“One: To become something great, to help America, to help mankind. And Two: To name a child after him.”
“ Sounds like more then 'one' promise but, yes, Sir. Christian it is.”
“On a final note, both of you. Keep this quiet, no one outside of this sector will learn about this. If it must be discussed outside of this sector, do so by calling it ‘Project C’. Understand?”
The brothers both said at the same time, “Of course.”
2 Years After Discovery, United States Biological Research Base, Sector G, Artificial Womb Pod, location unknown
“Well, Vince, we’ve done it. Were about to have our very own super-solider. He will require the utmost care, secrecy, and protection. No one will ever be allowed to know of this, and Chris must be raised and trained for combat.”
Just then, there was a beeping noise, and an alarm went off. “You ready Nick? This is it. The moment of truth.”
“Yes, and I must say, your idea of an artificial womb worked incredibly well. Here he comes…”
The artificial womb was a hollow, lead tube. Not see through, and filled with a liquid that had artificial growth hormones in it, also created by Vincent. It had a small tube, at waist-level with adults where the baby would be extracted from the artificial womb.
“Here he comes! The baby, Chri—What in gods name…?”
“Nick, I believe you made a minor mistake in the chromosome therapy. We have a little girl on our hands…”
“Well, we can’t just throw out the baby because of a small mistake, it’s a human being after all!”
“That’s all to true, Vince. I may have made a mistake in the gender, but lets hope I didn’t mistake the anything else we planned on giving him-- I mean her. Well, we can’t very well call her Christian any more, what should we name her?”
Michel Siggett chimed in, “How about naming her after my daughter? Kristen?”
“Very well, lets hope Project K works.”
“Project K? I thought it was C.”
“Well, we can’t call it ‘C’ anymore, as the baby’s name isn’t Christian. Why not K, for Kristen?”
“Works for me.”
Siggett came in again, asking, “Who is going to be the care taker? I haven’t thought of anyone.”
“I know a good person. Military guy, he is good with this hush-hush kind of stuff. He can keep a secret, especially if the pay is good.” Nick responded.
“Contact him immediately, tell him we shall pay him triple what he gets now. I’ll see if I can’t round up a few other people as well. Can’t have only one person watching over something as precious as this, can we?”
4 Years Later, A Farmhouse In Maine
“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Cried Kristen, the very center of Project K.
“Yes, darling?” Responded a man named Boris Winzlouskey, who goes by the name “Biggy”.
“Daddy, come here! Quick!”
“I’m coming, sweetheart, just hang on.”
“Quick Daddy, quick!”
Biggy sighed. This little girl was becoming more of a hassle then he originally thought. Sometimes he wondered if the pay was good enough, then he remembers how much he gets, and he says, “Hell yea, it’s worth it.”
“Daaaaaaddy!” Kristen called again.
“Alright! Alright, I’m here. What is it you…Wow…Uh, honey, your not trying to trick daddy, are you? This isn’t a joke, is it?” As Biggy looked into the living room where Kristen was playing, he saw the remote control for the T.V. floating about 4 feet away from her. It was moving wherever she looked or waved her hand.
“Nope, Daddy! It’s so cool! I can move stuff by thinking about moving it. Isn’t that really neat-o?”
“Heh, sure is, kiddo. Just, hang on a second…While daddy makes an important call.”
“Oh, are you calling Uncle Vince and Uncle Nick?”
“Yea, I am.”
“Tell them I said ‘Hi’!”
“Will do.” Biggy walked out of the living room into the kitchen, and snatched up the phone. He dialed the number given by his close friend, Nicholas Bygotter.
“Yes Biggy?”
“Uh… There has been an unexpected…let’s just call it a side effect, of little Kristen’s growth.”
“Side effect? What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
“Well…uh, nothing is really wrong, exactly…but… ”
“But?” Nick responded, sounding impatient.
“I’m not to sure how to put this…but…she seems to have developed telekinesis or something.”
“Wait, what?”
“She can move objects by waving her hand, or looking at them.”
“What?! There’s no way…Your joking, right?”
“No, at first I thought she was playing a trick on me. But it seems that…well, she’s waving the television remote around with her hand, only thing is, she—” Then Biggy heard a loud crashing sound, then glass breaking, he could also hear Nick on the other line screaming “Biggy? What was that?”
“Oops,” Kristen said from the living room.
“Hang on a second Nick.” Biggy dropped the phone and ran into the living room.
“Honey, what was that?” But he didn’t need to ask. He saw the living room window was shattered. “Sweetie, how did this happen?”
“I didn’t mean to Daddy, honest!”
“Its OK, just tell me what happened.”
“Well, I made my hand into a ball, like this,” She clenched her fist, “And the T.V. remote went flying. It hit the window and it broke. I’m sorry Daddy.”
“Don’t worry about it Kris, its fine. I’ll…be right back.” Biggy ran back to the kitchen, where Nick was still on the other line.
“Biggy? What just happened?”
“Apparently, when holding objects with her telekinesis, she can send them flying by making a fist.”
“That’s not possible…We must test this, at once! Vince, get your ass over here. We have tests to run. And Biggy, bring Kristen over here, now.”
“Uh, yea, sure, OK no problem. Be there in a few hours.” He hung up the phone. Not knowing immediately what to do he just stood there. He was shocked awake by Kristen asking, “What’s wrong, Daddy?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. Come with me, were going for a ride.”
“But what about the others?”
“Oh yea, I almost forgot. Could you go get them, please?”
“Okie-dokie, Daddy.” A few minutes later and Kristen returned with 4 adults trailing her. There was an extremely thin woman, with long dark hair. Her name was Elaine. Another woman, red haired and with freckles named Melly. Not as thin as Elaine, but not exactly large either. A large, black man named Tyrone. And finally a lanky white man with blonde hair named Bill. Bill went up to Biggy, and asked, “Whats all this about, Biggs?” Biggy responded by putting his hand on Bill’s shoulder, and saying, “Well, Bill. Were goin’ on a family road trip!”
It doesn't have a lot of substance..
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